


Losers and Loss

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Body Image, Collars, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Time, Gags, Hand Jobs, Kayfabe Compliant, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mild humiliation kink, Subspace, Undressing, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kevin tends to get into an unwelcome headspace after a loss, but so far in his career he's kept anyone from noticing it.  Until tonight, and Sami (of course, of all people).  Look, Kevin's (very) willing to get disciplined a bit, but there's no reason Sami's got to keep sarcastically talking about how gorgeous he is, that's justmean.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a very old kinkmeme prompt, "So Kevin loves to be dommed and has been keeping his horrible, dark secret for a long time and of course fucking Sami is the idiot who figures it out."

It was because he had lost.

It was because he was exhausted and frustrated and he had _lost_ \--the Face of America, getting pinned by _Dolph Ziggler,_ of all people, how humiliating--and losing always did this to him. Losing always left him feeling lightheaded and oddly empty, left him craving something just off the edge of his ability to understand. The weirdest thing was it wasn’t exactly an _unpleasant_ feeling, even. It was an achy, humming sort of buzz, like his whole body was listening for something.

It… wasn’t unpleasant at all, actually.

Which was why Kevin Owens always cleared the _hell_ out of the arena after a loss, putting as much distance between him and-- and everyone else. He just wanted to be alone and not have to deal with anyone getting in his face, he just wanted some quiet and some space (to rest and to fume, _not_ to remember how it had felt to be held down, trapped and helpless, not to relive the sensation of hands clamped around his wrist, the feel of straining against that grip in vain, being overpowered)--

Shaking his head angrily, he threw his stuff into his bag without even showering or changing (no way, not tonight), threw it over his shoulder and headed for the exit. Peace and quiet and his own room, that was what he needed. He didn’t need anything else, he didn’t, he didn’t he didn’t--

And he _especially_ didn’t need the annoying, somewhat-nasal voice that squawked as he threw open the emergency stairwell door.

“Hey!” snapped Sami Zayn, then did a double-take as he realized who had almost bowled him over. “Kev?”

“What are you doing here?” Kevin felt fresh sweat adding itself to his already-damp body at the sight of Sami. Sami had lost to Mahal tonight; another loser, two losers in a stairwell. He had a feeling losing didn’t make Sami feel weird and floating like it did Kevin. Like he was falling. _God,_ he needed to get away from everybody. And most especially from Sami Zayn and his stupid cap and red curls and strong hands that were currently waving about in the air.

“What am I--it’s a _stairwell,_ it’s not like it’s forbidden,” Sami was saying. “I’ve been taking the stairs to save energy. Do you know how much electricity elevators use? Some venues have green elevators that are energy-efficient, but when we’re at arenas that don’t, I like to--”

“--Great, nifty, good for you,” Kevin muttered, and tried to push past him, but managed to knock him off-balance instead. 

“Hey, damn it, you--” Sami shoved back and Kevin staggered, coming up against the stairwell railing. He caught a dizzy glimpse of cement floor two stories down, more space yawning above him, before Sami grabbed his wrist and pulled him back and away, slamming him into the wall. 

A spark of pain went through his wrist, and he closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy in a new way. The cinderblock was cold and rough against the back of his hand, Sami’s fingers tight on his wrist as they held him in place, and warmth seemed to flood through him and fill every empty space inside him with giddy pleasure.

 _No no no no,_ his mind chattered at the rest of him, and he forced his voice to sound steady and clear and concise as he snapped “Let go of me.”

Sami released his wrist immediately and stepped back. “I was just--” he said, then stopped. “I didn’t want you to--” His hands traced arcs of uncertainty in the air, and Kevin realized he was watching them with wolfish hunger. He pulled his gaze back to Sami’s eyes, but that wasn’t much better: they should have been angry or bitter, but instead they were wary and warm, filled with a strength and steadiness that at any other time Kevin would have scoffed at. Would have been able to laugh away what they made him feel.

But he had _lost_ and he was aching and forlorn, his wrist felt cold where Sami’s fingers had encircled it and he didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know, he didn’t, he _didn’t_.

He stared into Sami’s confused eyes for a moment and then took a clumsy, awkward swing at him.

Sami caught his hand easily and pushed him back toward the wall. Kevin pushed back, then stopped resisting at the last second and his wrist slammed into the cinderblocks nice and hard, _nice_ and _hard_. Sami’s eyes crinkled at the corners with concern; he was nice, he was so fucking _nice,_ and Kevin was so--

“Let go of me!” he managed to stammer in a strangled voice. “I told you to let go of me!”

Sami let go of him again, backing up a step, breathing heavily. “Damn it, Kev,” he muttered. “What the hell are you--”

Kevin took another wild, roundhouse swing at him, heart pounding, and this time Sami grabbed his wrist and spun Kevin around, pushing him face first against the wall, hand pulled behind his back like Kevin was some kind of criminal and Sami were an implacable force of justice, holding him in place firm and steady. Kevin tried to move his arm and felt the strain crackle along his joints; he leaned into the pain, pushing against the hold until the burn of it was all one long sweet ache along his arm, radiating into his shoulder, hot and fierce. He heard himself make a breathy, almost pleading noise as all the desolate places inside him began to fill up with heat, as his brain began to melt in the furnace of it. _This, this, I need this, oh Sami, make me make me make me--_

He shoved away from the wall as if kicking out of a pin, trying desperately to clear his mind of the haze, and Sami let go of his hand again. Kevin wanted to howl with triumph and frustration, wanted to spit into Sami’s stupid innocent face. He spun around to shout--something, he didn’t know what, and met Sami’s eyes, and all his fury stuttered and stopped in his throat. Because Sami’s eyes were ferociously kind and fiercely good--of course they were--but they were also filled with a dawning understanding that threatened to shatter Kevin’s soul.

“I lost,” Kevin said as if that explained everything. By the look in Sami’s eyes, maybe it even did. Sami was always weird that way, he could fail to understand something for years (and years and years) and then suddenly _get it_ at the least convenient time. “I lost, and I need--” He swallowed hard as the last word echoed down the stairwell, falling. He was falling with it. “I _need_ \--”

Silence and the sound of his own hoarse breathing.

“Kev,” Sami said, and stopped. “Kevin.” He seemed to be studying the cinderblocks next to Kevin’s head, avoiding his eyes. He took a deep breath, exhaled carefully. “If you take another swing at me…” He shifted his gaze to Kevin’s face and Kevin flinched. “If you take another swing at me, I’ll have to, uh...” He cast up his eyes as if trying to find exactly the right words. “I might have to…” A thoughtful grimace twisted his mouth, the old familiar expression when he was trying to figure out something way too complicated to put into words easily, and then he looked back at Kevin, nodding as though he’d finally figured something out. “Take another swing at me and I’ll have to discipline you,” he said firmly.

The wall was cold and solid against Kevin’s back, but that was the only thing that felt real in that moment. The breath in Kevin’s throat, the tremor in his knees, his hammering heartbeat--they all felt dim and far away, somehow. He stared at Sami’s face, his thoughts tumbling: _He doesn’t know what he’s saying, he doesn’t understand, there’s no way._

“Okay,” Sami said, almost to himself, and Kevin was startled at the expression on his face. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll just leave you alone,” Sami said, and it wasn’t possible that was a hint of disappointment in those hazel eyes, was it?

Was it?

Sami turned away from him, and Kevin felt the loss and the need curdle into a curse that snarled in his throat as he stepped forward and aimed another inept, shaking punch at Sami.

Sami caught his hand by the wrist, yanking him down so Kevin went to his knees on the stairs. The impact seemed to jar his sense of self out of his body altogether and suddenly he wasn’t a champion, he wasn’t a prizefighter anymore, he was nothing but need and desire. He felt Sami’s grip, bruisingly hard on his wrist, felt the stairs cold and rough beneath his knees, felt his traitorous body yammering with glee, his traitorous heart yearning for more. He was in freefall now and he didn’t know where he was going to land or how much it was going to hurt, but it was too late to look back.

“All right then. On your feet,” Sami snapped, and Kevin managed to heave himself up, though it felt wrong to not be on his knees. _Discipline you,_ he heard Sami’s voice in his mind. He stared down at Sami’s shoes. Would Sami make him kiss his feet? A thrill of horrified delight rippled through him, slow and languid, at the image of himself on his hands and knees, bending to put his mouth to Sami’s boot.

Sami was saying something, tugging at him. Something about his hotel. Kevin tore his gaze from Sami’s feet as he was pulled down the stairs, stumbling. The heavy door swung open and banged against the wall like a whipcrack, and Kevin staggered at the sound, imagining Sami slapping his face, the sharp hot fire of it. There were people in the corridor, familiar faces looking at them, confused, as Sami dragged Kevin toward the exit. 

“He’s not feeling well,” Sami was explaining to the New Day, who were looking at Kevin with concern. Kevin wondered distantly what his face looked like. He felt drunk and dim. Should he call for help? But he wanted-- Sami’s hand was clamped around his wrist, the only thing real in the world. 

“And _you’re_ gonna take care of him,” Big E said dubiously.

 _He’s going to discipline me._ Kevin felt a brief stab of panic: had he said that out loud or just thought it? Sami hesitated for just a moment, and Kevin’s thoughts raced to fill the space: _what if he shoves me to my knees right here and makes me tell everyone what I want, what I need, what I deserve to have done to me?_ Shame and lust threatened to choke his breathing altogether at the thought; he bit back a small sound of yearning disgust and felt himself swaying.

“I’m...I’m going to take care of him, yes,” said Sami, and because it was everyone’s favorite sweetheart Sami Zayn, Big E shrugged and let them go. Kevin stumbled forward, Sami’s hand on him like a lifeline. _On my knees,_ Kevin’s mind babbled. _On my knees looking up at his smiling face while he calls me filthy things, calls me a bitch and a whore and a cocksucker--_ This time he actually had to stop and take deep breaths of hot, humid air for a moment as all his joints went weak and loose.

“We’re almost there,” Sami said, and Kevin realized they were out of the venue, in front of the hotel. “Almost there.” He felt Sami’s fingers on his wrist tremble slightly. “Kevin, if you knew--if you knew how often I’ve wanted--” Sami’s voice broke off and he swallowed hard. The flicker of doubt gave Kevin a sudden jolt of strength; he yanked his hand back, trying to pull away, but Sami held on tight. “No,” Sami said. “I warned you, and you tried to hit me anyway, and now I’m not stopping. I have my limits, Kevin.”

 _Limits, limits, limits limits limits,_ Kevin’s brain jangled, and he wasn’t sure there was any limit to either his desire or his terror as he followed Sami through the lobby. Sami hit the elevator button, then drummed the fingers of his free hand on the panel, jittering his foot on the thick carpet, breathing heavily. Kevin looked at his long fingers dancing across the metal. 

“Look at me,” Sami said, but Kevin already was, he was staring at Sami’s fingers, imagining them doing unspeakable things to him. “Look at my _face,_ ” Sami said more sharply, and Kevin snapped his gaze up to Sami’s eyes, wishing he could look away, unable to do so. He’d lost, he’d lost, and he was losing more every moment, losing more and more of himself.

It felt so good.

“Have you ever--” Sami broke off and bit his lip. “How did you deal with this, back then?”

The elevator doors opened and they went inside. There was no one else there. “Sometimes I used to go pay someone,” Kevin said dully, staring at Sami’s reflection in the metal elevator doors. “But it was never--they never seemed to understand.” They’d always thought he wanted _pain_ \--as if he didn’t get enough of that at work--and he’d never been able to explain. They hadn’t ever been able to give him what he needed. Not even the redheads, the lovely sweet-faced redheads he’d paid to be cruel to him. “And then when I got to the WWE it was…”

“Too risky,” Sami finished for him.

Kevin nodded. 

They looked at each other in the mirrored doors until the elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor and whispered open, separating their reflections once more.

“Okay,” Sami muttered, tugging him down the hall. “You can do this. Don’t wuss out. No running away. You can do this.”

“I’m trying,” Kevin said.

Sami gave him a startled, distracted look as he fumbled in his pocket with his free hand. “What?”

“I won’t. Run away,” Kevin tried to clarify through a haze of panicky desire.

“Oh,” said Sami, producing the key. “Good.”

He opened the door and shoved Kevin into his hotel room.

Kevin staggered forward and came to a halt in the middle of the room. It was a better hotel room than any he’d ever stayed in with Sami before, in all their years together: clean and bright, with a coffee table of dark wood and a cream-colored armchair. And a bed, wide and white. He stared at the bed. Behind him, he heard Sami take a long breath. Kevin watched, struggling to keep his breathing even, as Sami sank into the armchair, all long legs and bright eyes and red curls. Kevin could go down on his knees right here, could crawl across the room to him, to be slapped and tormented and humiliated--

“Take your clothes off,” said Sami.

Kevin blinked at him. “What?”

“Get undressed. I want to look at you.”

All of the haze in Kevin’s mind burned away in a sharp lick of fury. “You _son of a--”_ He swung away and started to storm toward the door, but Sami was already up and out of the chair, hands on either side of him, trapping him against the wall again. 

“You said you wouldn’t run, you fucking _liar,_ ” Sami snarled.

“And you said you were going to--” Kevin choked on bitter betrayal and turned his face away from Sami’s blazing eyes. “You said you’d--”

“You don’t get to _choose,_ Kev,” Sami said, sharp as a shove over a precipice. If he would just grab Kevin’s face, Kevin could struggle against that, could lean into the bruising grip of it. But no, there was nothing but vertigo and loss. “I say what I want and you _do it,_ right? _Discipline.”_

Kevin heard himself make a sharp, pained sound, an exhalation of pure anguish. Sami leaned closer and Kevin could feel the hairs of his beard against his ear. 

“Right?” Sami repeated. 

“Right,” Kevin said in a gasping rush. “You’re right.” 

Sami stepped backwards and dropped back into the chair, looking at him. He made a sharp, fidgety gesture that screamed _Get on with it._ And then he waited.

Kevin stared at him, dismay turning his fingers cold. He had never thought Sami had _this_ level of cruelty in him. To just sit there watching and make Kevin--

He kicked off his shoes, scowling, then stepped on the toes of the socks to pull them off without bending over, glaring at Sami. Sami nodded. “Now your shirt.” 

Anger and humiliation sparked in Kevin’s chest; he grabbed the collar of his shirt, feeling the smooth slick fabric of the singlet under it, and yanked it over his head. Wadding up the fabric, he threw it at Sami, a gesture that felt petulant and pointless the second he did it. It fell short and Sami simply looked at him, his face neutral, head slightly tilted to the side. Kevin felt his glare falter into uncertainty. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t he just leave? 

He glanced yearningly at the door, and Sami said “No,” the word simple and irrefutable. Sami’s gaze touched his hands and Kevin felt them clench and unclench. “Your shorts.”

Kevin realized his thumbs were hooked into the waistband of his shorts before he’d fully processed what Sami had said, as if Sami had somehow taken Kevin’s hands in his and moved them there. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to felt insulted, belittled, _forced._ Not vulnerable and ashamed and lost. Lost. He could feel heat crawling up his neck and into his face. Sami was watching his humiliated blush with interest, his lips parted slightly.

Kevin slid his shorts down inch by reluctant, agonizing inch. “ _Oh,”_ Sami said as they slipped low enough that the bulge in Kevin’s singlet became mortifyingly clear. _Yeah, I’m fucking turned on, you dope, you moron, you stupid fool,_ Kevin wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to get the words to form on his tongue. The familiar insults felt strange and out of place in this quietly opulent room, where Sami sat and looked at him like a king watching his own personal jester perform. The shorts fell to the floor and Kevin stepped out of them, too confused to even kick them away, and stood there in his singlet, like in their Ring of Honor days, except he’d never wrestled with a hardon like this. He wasn’t sure he could _walk_ with a hardon like this.

Sami’s eyes went up and down Kevin’s body. His tongue caressed his lower lip for a second before he bit into it, and Kevin hadn’t thought it was possible to get harder, but apparently it was. “Shit,” Kevin muttered under his breath, struggling to gather his scattered wits. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who was wordless and overwhelmed, he was supposed to be sharp and bitter and cruel. But he didn’t feel any of those things; all of his carefully sharpened edges seemed to have gone blurry and vague, all of his bitterness gone incandescently sweet with shame, and all the cruelty was in Sami’s avid gaze that left him swaying and uncertain.

“Singlet,” said Sami, and Kevin winced.

“Please don’t,” he managed to say, and heard his voice shaking.

Sami shook his head, merciless. “I want to see all of you. I want all of you.”

Kevin felt his lower lip tremble; he tried to firm it into a scowl but he knew he was failing. He shoved at one singlet strap and it slid down his shoulder like a parody of a coy girl doing a lingerie striptease, and he turned his face away from Sami as he struggled to find his composure again. How ridiculous, how stupid--

“That’s good,” Sami said. “Nice and slow, just like that.”

Prickling heat in his face, his neck, his chest; he was flushed all over, his heart pounding. He slid one arm out of his singlet, then the other, then started to shove it down.

“Slow down,” Sami said, and Kevin stopped short as if he’d yelled at him, though his voice was utterly mild. “I want to enjoy this.” His eyes were as rapt as if he were watching something lovely, as if Kevin’s humiliation were somehow beautiful to him. He hummed happily under his breath as Kevin peeled the singlet off, bit by bit, his gaze caressing each inch of newly-exposed skin. Kevin knew he should be angry, should storm and complain and scowl, but then Sami murmured “Oh, _yes,_ ” as the singlet slipped down to his knees and Kevin couldn’t seem to think of anything except how much he’d like to hear Sami say that again, just like that.

He finally got the singlet off and straightened up, feeling ungainly and awkward and incandescent with mortification. Sami smiled cheerfully at him and twirled a finger in the air. “Turn around.” Kevin started to turn in a circle; when his back was to Sami he heard Sami say “Stop there.” So he did. He stood, naked and shaking and agonizingly aroused, with his back to his greatest enemy. _Bad idea, bad idea, get ready for a lamp to the head,_ part of his mind was yammering, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the rush of shamed pleasure as he stood there bare and desperate, letting Sami examine him from head to toe. He bit down on his own tongue to stop a word from slipping out and realized only then that it was _please: Please touch me, please don’t leave me aching and apart, hit me or slap me or scratch me, but just touch me in some way._

“I never get to just look at you,” Sami said. “Everything’s always in motion and we never just stay still.” Kevin heard him take a breath. “Stay still,” Sami murmured.

Kevin stood still, feeling that horrific flush seeming to ripple all over his body in waves until he felt almost dizzy. What the fuck was Sami looking at for so long? His ass, his back, his legs? Was he just getting off on making Kevin stand here like a grotesque burlesque, naked and so hard he thought he might die with the rapture and the shame of it?

_Was Sami ever going to touch him?_

“So good,” Sami said after a small eternity. “I could look at you all day.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin said.

Sami laughed, a small breathy sound of delight. “Shut up,” he said, and Kevin felt the room go gray as if Sami had slapped him. “Not one more word out of you until I say you can speak. Do you understand me?”

 _Yes, I understand you, you piece of crap,_ Kevin would have said, but he had lost, and it felt so good to do what Sami said to do, and he wasn’t sure he could speak now to save his life, _to keep his title._ His jaw clamped down on the words, he was obedient and falling, and pleasure lit up his brain in every weird way he’d never wanted and always needed.

“Nod if you understand me,” Sami said, laughing, and Kevin managed a small, jerky nod. “Good. Good. Ah, you’re beautiful,” Sami said. “So fucking beautiful.”

Kevin bowed his head, wincing at the cruel sarcasm like a lash across his bare back. A strap, a kendo stick, barbed wire would hurt less. But they wouldn’t make him feel like this, falling free into something so terrifying that it felt like ecstasy.

“Lie down on the bed,” Sami said.

Kevin staggered to the bed, feeling loopy and distant and like he’d forgotten how his knees worked, and collapsed onto his stomach.

“Kevin, sweetheart, darling,” Sami laughed, and Kevin jolted as though the endearments would leave welts and bruises. “Roll over. Roll over and look at me.”

Kevin wanted to weep and beat the pillow with his fists. Instead he heaved himself over onto his back and looked at Sami, who was still lounging in his armchair in his stupid beautiful Operation Ivy shirt and his stupid gorgeous khakis and his stupid luminous smile. Sami’s gaze roamed all over him and Kevin felt arousal trailing in its wake.

“Touch yourself,” Sami said, smiling into his eyes.

Despair sank hooks into Kevin’s heart; Sami was never going to touch him, was just going to leave him here alone and naked, shamed and empty. Desperate with embarrassment, he reached down and grabbed his erection, yanking at it with frantic economy; it wouldn’t take much, he could just come and be done and then Sami would go _away--_

“ _Stop,”_ Sami snapped, his smile gone. Kevin’s hand froze in place and a groan pushed past his teeth. “Don’t you dare rush this, Kev. I didn’t wait fifteen years for this to be over in a few minutes. Do you understand me?”

He waited for Kevin to say something, but Kevin glared at him: did Sami think he’d forgotten a command from just a few minutes ago? Did he think Kevin was _that_ easy to fool? Kevin nodded curtly (disciplined, he was so _fucking_ disciplined, he would never speak another word in his life unless Sami told him to) and Sami’s smile rekindled, lighting up his face.

“Okay, uh.” Sami swallowed and Kevin watched his Adam’s apple bob with fascination. “Start by touching your balls.”

Kevin felt his face crinkle in bewilderment, looking at Sami, but he released his hold and took a handful of soft fullness, letting the weight shift in his fingers. He’d never felt more vulnerable in his life, he realized with a giddy rush; maybe Sami would tell him to tighten his hold until it hurt too much to bear, until Kevin screamed--

“Hey, no, no, what are you doing?” Sami’s face was alarmed, and Kevin realized that his grip had tightened enough to make the breath hiss between his teeth. “Light, Kevin. Light touches. Fingertips only. Just--make yourself feel good.”

 _What would feel good is you slapping me, you choking me, you fucking **touching me**_ , Kevin wanted to scream, but he didn’t have words anymore, he only had his breath and his body and the look in Sami’s eyes as he brushed his fingers across his balls, just enough to leave him aching and dizzy.

“God, look at you,” Sami breathed, and Kevin closed his eyes as if that could keep out this cruel parody of kindness. But it couldn’t shut out Sami’s bright voice saying, “Look at my beautiful champion against my white sheets, so viciously gorgeous, so brutally lovely, making yourself feel good because I told you to, holy shit.” It did feel good, the shame and desire churned together into something bittersweet and intoxicating, leaving him almost drunk on chagrin and obedience. He shivered and felt dampness on his lashes and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sami said, “okay, now you can start jerking off again. Slow. Really slow.” It was anguish to go slowly, all he wanted to do was throw himself off the cliff of Sami’s voice into oblivion, but he tried, he tried, he tried. “You’re doing so good, Kev,” Sami crooned, and everything seemed to fade away into a haze of pleasure; he gasped for breath, shuddering, yearning for Sami’s hands on him. They’d touched so many times in the past, in joy or in anger, bringing comfort or pain, but now, _now_ Sami was so far away and Kevin was aching and alone and disciplined, he was doing so good, Sami said so.

He managed to pry his eyes open and gave Sami a look that he meant to be a glare, but he knew it was pleading. Sami beamed at him and said “When you start to come you can talk, but not until then. Do you understand?” Kevin nodded, shaking. Sami’s face shifted from happiness into something fiercer, more predatory. “You’re close,” he said. “Your toes curl as you get close, did you know that? I never knew that. There’s so much I never knew,” he added in a wondering tone. Kevin had never really noticed it himself, but now it was all he could feel, the pleasure trailing down to his toes, crimping them despite himself. “You’re close and I’m going to watch you all the way down, I’m going to watch as you fall apart, as you lose yourself.”

 _I’m already lost._ Kevin was suddenly deeply relieved he wasn’t allowed to speak. _I lost myself long ago, I lost myself the first time you smiled at me, I’ve been lost ever since._ He bit his lip, trying to look angry or even _aroused,_ anything but how he was feeling, which was weak and vulnerable, heart thrown open wide to Sami’s gaze. 

“Faster,” Sami said suddenly, sitting up straight and leaning toward the bed, resting his arms on his knees. “I can’t wait any more, I can’t do it. I want to hear your voice again, want to hear you as you--” He broke off and took a deep breath. “Fuck, Kev, your face--if you could just see yourself--”

That stab of shame thrilled through Kevin again as he wondered how his face looked, tense with imminent bliss, the Face of America undone, right on the verge. 

“Kevin, Kevin,” said his tormentor, his giver of merciless rapture. “Talk to me. Please talk to me.”

Kevin opened his mouth, struggling for words, but then pleasure seized him and swept him into a place beyond thought, beyond even shame, where the only word he seemed able to summon was a name, over and over and over.

The last shudders were still rippling through him when there was a _thump_ and Kevin was tossed slightly in the air as Sami landed on the bed next to him, draped himself over him. Sami’s hands were on his bare shoulders, touching his face, his thigh solid on Kevin’s thigh, his beard tickling at Kevin’s collarbone as he nuzzled against him. Kevin could only gasp, overwhelmed, at the sudden overload of contact. Sami reached down and unwrapped his hand from around his softening erection; he lifted the damp fingers to his lips, kissing them. 

“Oh,” Sami sighed against his fingers, “I don’t think I’ll tell you to stop talking next time, that was hard, it was almost as hard as not touching you.”

There was too much in that sentence to unpack and Kevin couldn’t seem to get past two of those words, somehow. “Aren’t you going to--” he said, and made a vague wanking motion with the hand Sami was still holding, then felt immediately stupid.

“I’m fine,” Sami said, and he sounded it: blissful, satiated, delighted. “Watching you was--yeah, I’m fine. Maybe next time I’ll make you watch while I do it, or tell you to get me off in some way. Maybe with that amazing mouth.” He paused thoughtfully while Kevin stared at the ceiling, feeling Sami’s heartbeat against his chest, hearing those two words echoing through his brain again. “There’s always ice in hotels, maybe I could use ice on you. That could be fun. Or--wait, I know, I could buy you a collar, would you like that? Leather, or maybe black lace?”

Kevin opened his mouth to say something scathing, but the image of himself in nothing but a black lace collar rose up before his mind’s eye and he heard himself make a sound like his soul was attempting to flee his body. 

“I know, right?” Sami said cheerfully. His long fingers were tracing through the streaks and spatters of wet on Kevin’s stomach as if sketching diagrams of depravity, schemata of sin. “Technically I guess it doesn’t matter if you’d like it or not, that’s kind of the point, right? If I understand it correctly. But I know _I’d_ like it, so I think I might. A pretty lace collar,” he said, and put his wet fingers on Kevin’s throat, “for my beautiful Kevin.”

Kevin blinked at him and sniffed very hard a couple of times.

“Maybe next time,” said Sami, and then his gleeful expression faltered, and he said them more quietly, the two words that kept stopping the breath in Kevin's throat, that kept making his heart skitter: “Next time?” Kevin felt the fingers touching his Adam’s apple tremble.

Kevin opened his mouth to say that there would obviously be no next time, that this was a hideous mistake, that they were sure as fuck never going to end up in bed together again, ever.

“Only when I lose,” he heard himself say instead. “It only happens when I lose. Don’t forget that.”

“Ah,” said Sami, relieved and happy. He dropped his head down on Kevin’s breast and cuddled close. “Well. You lose a lot.”

Kevin snorted. “Not as often as you.”

Sami just laughed softly against his skin. “I guess that might be true,” he said.

“It is.”

“I don’t keep track.”

“I do.”

More quiet laughter tickled his chest. “It’s funny,” said Sami. “But I don’t feel like a loser at all right now. Not at all. Isn’t that funny?”

It was hilarious, because of course Sami _was_ a huge loser, but Kevin was too sleepy and sated to laugh. He wanted to take a shower or at least get under the covers, but it all seemed too much hassle right now. He wrapped one arm around Sami and pulled him closer, yawning. He didn’t feel like a loser either, he thought muzzily as he drifted toward sleep.

_Not right now._

(Not _ever_ , he reminded himself sternly).

 _Not right now, with Sami in my arms,_ the thought came again, and though it was the most bizarre and inexplicable thought ever, he was asleep too quickly to refute it one more time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin just lost the US title to AJ Styles in Madison Square Garden, and he's in no mood for sexy hijinks with Sami.
> 
> He's really _not._
> 
> (He might be).

Madison Square Garden was screaming with joy as Kevin rolled to the edge of the ring, ignored by the new US champ, by the crowd, by everyone. He lay there on the apron, looking up at the lights. He wasn’t the US champion anymore. He’d lost.

Eventually he pushed off and let himself fall.

* * *

He heard his feet dragging on the plush corridor carpeting and couldn’t be bothered to pick them up. He turned the corner--and blinked at the sight of Sami Zayn in his stupid cap and a Rancid t-shirt, leaning against the wall next to Kevin’s hotel door with careful carelessness. 

Sami tipped his cap up and smiled. “You lost,” he said.

Kevin stared at him. He’d gotten pinned a few times--he hadn’t kept count--since that night, that bizarre amazing night when he’d lost and Sami had taken him to his room after. Since he’d humiliated Kevin by calling him _handsome_ and _gorgeous_ and all kinds of stupid sarcastic things that made Kevin feel… weird and mortified and aroused. He’d bossed him around like only Sami could, dorky and kind and completely inexorable, and told Kevin to get himself off, and then _cuddled with him._ He’d talked about next time, but Kevin had lost five matches since that night and Sami hadn’t shown up again until tonight. Tonight, when Kevin was exhausted and depressed and didn’t want to see _anyone,_ but most especially not Sami fucking Zayn and his big goofy strong hands and his bright demanding voice and--

“Go _away,_ ” Kevin said, and Sami’s smile dimmed slightly.

“You lost,” he said again.

“Yeah, I fucking lost the US title, and now I have to put up with Styles and his ridiculous preening, and I’m not in the mood for your stupid games,” Kevin said, opening the door with more vehemence than was strictly warranted.

Sami slipped in after him before Kevin could slam the door shut--was he really that fast? Were Kevin’s reflexes especially slow tonight?--and put his arms around Kevin, his hands in Kevin’s hair and his mouth against Kevin’s sweaty neck. “Kev,” he murmured against his skin, and Kevin felt a thousand different things go through him at once. He quickly sorted through all of them and grabbed “annoyed” and ran with it. 

“Go away,” he said again, pushing at Sami. “Of course you show up _now,_ when I’ve lost the title and you can laugh at me and tell me how _pretty_ I am without it around my waist, how _darling_ I look while taking off my pointless Face of America t-shirt.” His heart was hammering. He glared at Sami and waited for him to leave. “Go away,” he said a third time, and it sounded nothing at all like a sob, he was sure of that. Pretty sure.

Sami looked at him, and Kevin watched as he bit his lip, then opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. “Do me a favor before I go?” he finally said, and his voice was as conversational as if they were discussing whether to get pizza or Chinese takeout. “Could you pick up that pen on the bedstand?”

Kevin shrugged and picked it up. “What the hell are you--”

“Okay,” Sami said, smiling brightly. “Okay, Kevin, I _promise_ that the second you put that pen down, I’ll turn right around and leave. But as long as you’re holding it, I’ll stay here and do whatever the hell I feel like doing to you.”

Kevin stared at him, his fingers curled around the little bit of plastic.

“You know I mean it, right?” Sami said. “I promise. You know I wouldn’t break a promise.”

Kevin didn’t feel the need to dignify such a stupid question with an answer. “Get out of my room,” he said instead.

Sami’s eyes flicked down to the pen he was still holding, then back to Kevin’s face. His smile was full of surprised delight: _What a cool trick this is! Don’t you think, so, Kev?_

“Fuck off,” said Kevin as vehemently as he could. “I don’t fucking want you here, I don’t fucking need you here.” He flipped Sami off with the hand not currently holding a pen. 

“Oh my God,” said Sami, “you’re magnificent.”

Kevin’s face went hot as that rush of shamed rapture went over him again. It felt so good, and he hated the part of him that wanted it so much, that was weak and greedy and ready to just close his eyes and stand there swaying while listening to Sami. Taking a sharp breath, he stomped over to the nightstand and started to lower the pen onto it. “Get out,” he said.

He risked a glance over at Sami, who was looking at his hand with an odd mix of hunger and worry. He felt his fingers tighten convulsively on the pen and bit back a snarl of annoyance.

“You have the most graceful hands,” Sami said. “Strong and elegant and perfect.” Kevin felt his fingers--they were stubby fingers, they weren’t elegant _at all,_ what a mean thing to say, he wanted Sami to shut up and he wanted to hear more. He felt his fingers tremble, but somehow the pen didn’t drop. “I want to make you touch me with them,” Sami said. “I want to watch them against my skin as they make me feel good.” Then he looked at Kevin and his smile went from dreamily lustful to mischievous. “But not today, I guess, since you can’t put that pen down, eh?”

Kevin stared at his hand and the pen. _Let go of it and he’ll go away._ He could feel Sami’s eyes running up and down his body as if coveting every inch of it, and the mockery was agony and ecstasy at the same time. “Go away,” he said. “Go away. Please.” Oh, his voice was all wrong on that last word, it was breathless and shaking, and he knew that if Sami said _one more thing_ he was going to lose the ability to say anything but _please_ over and over again. He’d just--

In a burst of panic, he lurched at Sami as if to shove him bodily from the room, but Sami just laughed and grabbed his free arm ( _fuck,_ he was still holding the pen), pulling it up behind his back into a hammerlock. He applied a little pressure and Kevin felt a gasp torn from him as inch by inch he was driven--gradually, inexorably, rapturously--to his knees.

“God,” said Sami, looking down on Kevin as Kevin panted for breath, yearning to be broken and remade by Sami’s voice. He rested a hand on Kevin’s head, a saint granting benediction to a sinner, and Kevin knew he should resent it, he’d never done anything wrong (except when he had, oh he had, he had, he had), but Sami’s fingers caressed the back of his head and Kevin bowed before that exquisite gentle pressure, wanting to sob at the bliss of it.

But then Sami’s hands were on his shirt, tugging. Kevin grabbed the hem and muttered “No, no, no, get out, go away,” but it was hard to hold on to the cloth with that damned pen in his hand, and Sami pulled the shirt free of his fingers. 

“How many times I’ve wanted to undress you,” Sami said, his voice dreamy. “Remember that time in Chicago, when you got food poisoning and you were so sick? I was such an asshole, I was so fucking thrilled because you were too out of it to tell me not to, so I got to take your clothes off.” He pulled the shirt slowly over Kevin’s head. “I thought I’d die, I was so happy.” His hands were shaking slightly and Kevin couldn’t figure out why; was it that he was embarrassed too, telling such obvious lies? 

“I thought I’d die,” whispered Sami. 

He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and Kevin blinked up at him, shamed and dazzled, hand hot and sweaty, curled like a claw around the pen. Sami’s eyes were dark and avid, and then he smiled just a bit shyly. “Look what I bought,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Oh geez, don’t laugh, okay? Promise you won’t laugh.”

Kevin stared as Sami unfurled it like a banner: a strip of black lace with a red satin ribbon woven through it, and a black metal ring attached to the front of it. 

“I told you you’d look fabulous in it, so I thought maybe tonight--you’re not going to laugh, are you?” 

Sami’s voice was anxious, but Kevin had never felt further from laughter, looking at the collar. He’d look _ridiculous_ in it, ludicrous and grotesque and shameful, and he jerked his chin upward to show Sami his bare neck with a kind of desperate defiant acceptance. “Go on,” he said. “Put it on me. With your hands.”

“Well, I’m not going to put it on with my teeth,” Sami said with something close to a giggle, but Kevin barely heard him, lost in dazed shame and delight. _With your hands, your hands that have hurt me in a thousand ways, but never like this, by being gentle, by treating me as if I’m cherished, your cruel gentle hands._ “My toes wouldn’t work either,” Sami said, grinning. Kevin blinked up at him, waiting, and the smile slipped from Sami’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess now’s not really the-- Never mind.” 

He put the collar around Kevin’s neck with fingers that were oddly cold--usually Sami’s hands were so warm. Kevin felt the little clasp click shut and shivered, wondering how laughable he looked, there on his knees half-naked. How the locker room would erupt into jeers at the sight of him, he thought, and felt shame run down his spine like lava, every other emotion (regret and grief and guilt) dissolving in it.

Sami hooked his fingers through the metal ring and tugged until Kevin was looking up at him. “Is that good?” he asked. The question had no meaning at all: kneeling with Sami’s collar on him wasn’t “good,” it was horrible and humiliating and the best feeling ever. “Kevin,” Sami said, as if he wanted an answer, but it was just random sounds in his ears, a name with no significance anymore. 

Sami reached down and ran his hand across the front of Kevin’s shorts. He made a pleased noise as Kevin closed his eyes, struggling to breathe. “My Kevin,” Sami said, and Kevin heard himself make a hoarse sound, jolted with pleasure. “Oh, you like that,” Sami murmured. “I should have known.” He laughed softly, and there was a mocking edge to it, but it didn’t seem aimed at Kevin, somehow. He took Kevin’s free hand in his. “You’re not the only one, I guess,” he said, pressing Kevin’s fingers to the front of his jeans. 

Kevin’s entire world lurched. Sami was turned on, and Kevin might have something to do with it, and it was impossible and astonishing. Kevin leaned forward, dizzy with longing, to nuzzle the cloth, lipping at the fly, feeling the metal teeth of the zipper beneath his lips. He rested his face against the denim, hot against his cheek with Sami’s arousal, and he was torn between wanting to get closer to Sami’s skin and wanting to just stay here in this moment forever. He put his hands on the waistband of Sami’s jeans, letting his fingers curl around it, feeling Sami’s hipbones against his knuckles. _Take your jeans off,_ he wanted to demand, but he knew it would come out as begging, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear his own voice broken and pleading to make Sami happy, it would be too much, it would destroy him--

And then Sami was pulling away, he was removing Kevin’s hands and _pulling away,_ backing off, _no._ “I’m sorry,” Kevin heard Sami’s voice receding from him as he gasped in loss, “I’m sorry, that was probably too much, I shouldn’t have-- I’ll-- I’ll just go now.”

Kevin fell forward onto his hands, feeling the carpet under his palms, realizing _he had dropped the pen,_ he had forgotten and he had dropped the pen and now Sami was leaving like he promised. “No!” he howled, scrabbling on the carpet for the little bit of plastic, unable to find it, heart pounding. “No, Sami, no, I didn’t mean-- I _didn’t--_ ” 

Finally spotting the glint of white plastic against the carpet, he grabbed at it, holding his hand up as if with a new title, triumphant and desperate. “Sami,” he panted, “look, look, I’ve got it, it’s right here, don’t leave.” Sami’s hand was on the doorknob, but he was looking back at Kevin, his face opaque. Kevin gripped the pen so hard he thought he might break it, and the lace collar scratched at his throat, and he went down to his hands and knees, words pouring out of him like blood from a wound, unable to stop them now: “Don’t leave me, Sami, I’m begging you, I know I don’t deserve to have you stay, but _please_ \--” He choked, then stumbled on, hot with shame and desire and a self-immolating rapture, “Please, I need this, I need you, I want it so badly, Sami. Let me-- God, please make me make you feel good, please don’t leave me.” He waved the pen like a flag of surrender between them. “I didn’t mean to drop it, I was just--” He looked up into Sami’s eyes and finished wretchedly, “I was overwhelmed and so-- so-- I was so happy, and I forgot about it.”

He shut his eyes, trying not to hear the echoes of him admitting he’d been happy to be his knees in front of Sami, and tried to breathe through his panic and desire, waiting to hear the door click closed.

There was silence for a moment, and then Kevin felt Sami’s fingers brush the top of his head and he almost sobbed out loud. “Make you make me feel good,” Sami murmured, almost too low for Kevin to hear. “You’d like that, huh?”

Kevin took a shaky breath. “No,” he managed to say. He gritted his teeth and said more firmly, “Fuck you, you can’t boss me around.” He lifted the hand still clutching the pen and put it on Sami’s hip. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said.

Sami touched one finger to the pen and smiled. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he said, unbuttoning his fly. “I know that’s a cliche, but it’s true with you. You’re even more beautiful when you’re pretending to be angry to hide how you’re really feeling and what you really want.”

“Fuck off,” Kevin breathed, swaying forward despite himself. 

“You’ll do as you’re told,” Sami said sternly, and Kevin felt the world slide sideways in horrified delight. “Do you hear me, Kevin?” He reached down and grabbed Kevin’s hair with one hand as he unzipped his fly.

“I hear you, asshole,” Kevin snapped. He wanted to glare up, but he’d just discovered that Sami was wearing checkerboard boxers and he couldn’t seem to choose between helpless giggles and ripping them off him as fast as possible.

Sami laughed softly. “Tell me that you want the taste of me in your mouth,” he said.

“ _No,”_ Kevin said. “I can’t. Oh. I can’t.”

“You have to,” Sami said. “You lost your match and now you have to do as you’re told.” He shook Kevin gently by the hair, then added almost kindly, “You don’t have to mean it, Kevin. You just have to say it because I told you to. Just say it once and get it over with.”

This seemed reasonable. “I want the taste of you in my mouth,” Kevin said quickly, as flatly as possible. There. It was over and done with. “So much,” he heard himself add with a thrill of shock. “So much, Sami, please let me--” He put his hands on Sami’s hips and the jeans slid downward an inch under his grip. “I want to taste you, I want you to feel me doing that, I want to hear you say my name while I fucking suck you off, Sami.”

“ _Oh,”_ said Sami, and his voice cracked in the middle of the syllable. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said in a steadier voice, “that’s good, you said that very well.” He let go of Kevin’s hair to kick off his shoes and shimmy out of his jeans, pushing them to the side. “You’ve always been so good with your mouth, Kevin.”

Now _that_ was a compliment Kevin could accept; he made a pleased noise and leaned forward to nuzzle at the fly of the ridiculous checkerboard boxers, slipping his tongue into the gap in the fabric. He felt curls beneath his lips and hot skin against his tongue for a tantalizing moment before Sami took a sharp breath and moved back a step, causing Kevin to frantically double-check that he was still holding his pen.

“Wait,” Sami said breathlessly. He reached down and grasped the ring at Kevin’s throat, tipping Kevin’s head up. Kevin could feel the lace taut against his throat. “I want to look at you.” His eyes were dark and almost startled, staring down at Kevin. “You have the most beautiful mouth,” he said. Kevin winced and tried to pull away, but Sami held on. “You’re so perfect,” he said, and Kevin felt mortified joy flood him once more. “And all I have to do is wait until you lose a match and then I can do anything I want to you.”

Kevin said nothing. He wanted to tell Sami that wasn’t true, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth he’d agree, that he’d do _more_ than agree. So he kept his mouth closed and breathed heavily through his nose and prayed Sami would stop talking soon.

“Tell me,” Sami said. “Tell me I can do anything I want to you.”

Kevin looked up at him, lost. He let himself fall. “Anything,” he said. He wanted to say more, but there weren’t enough words for what he wanted to say anyway. “Everything,” he whispered, and hoped it was enough.

Sami’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. “Right,” he said. “Okay.” He slid the boxers down, then wriggled out of the Rancid t-shirt to toss that aside too, leaving him standing all pale gold and copper in the dim hotel light. There was a bruise on one hip, purple and green, and Kevin ached to kiss it. “Okay,” Sami said again. “You can do-- uh, what you said.”

Without thinking, Kevin leaned forward and touched his lips to the bruise. Sami made a small noise; his hips twitched and his erection smacked up against Kevin’s face. “Augh,” said Sami. There was a giggle threaded under his words. “Sorry, even now I keep hitting you, I guess we just--”

His voice broke off into stuttering as Kevin wrapped his free arm around his hips and yanked him forward, taking him in his mouth.

Kevin had no fucking idea what he was doing, but he didn’t even care, he was sloppy and noisy and his nose was getting tickled by wiry hair and that was fine, it was _fantastic._ “Oh my _God,”_ said Sami, and the sound of his voice, shuddering and high, went through Kevin like a sweet hot blade. He could feel Sami’s knees shaking and pulled him as close as possible, holding him up.

“I need--” Sami’s voice was trembling, he was trembling all over. “I’m going to-- Kevin, I have to--” His knees buckled and he staggered backwards, Kevin following him doggedly on his knees, until the edge of the bed caught the back of his legs and he sat down hard. “You’re so beautiful,” Sami said, sounding almost dazed, and Kevin shivered all over with the shame and the joy of it. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, oh _fuck,_ now every time you cut a promo I’m going to look at your mouth and remember this, oh God Kevin.” 

The image rose up in Kevin’s mind, sharp and perfect: himself standing in the ring in front of Sami, mic in hand, saying something cutting and cruel. He could see the way Sami’s eyes would flick to the mic and then to Kevin’s mouth, the tiny smile that would cross his face, and Kevin felt himself go hot all over-- _I’ll remember this and want to do it again, want to go to my knees right there in the middle of the ring, and he’ll know it_. It was too much, it was too good; he groped at himself in clumsy desperation with his free hand and felt himself go still as his climax seized him, heard himself making muffled noises of bliss as if from a thousand miles away.

“Kev?” Sami sounded almost alarmed. “Are you--” Kevin lurched forward, lost in the last ripples of orgasm, groaning around his mouthful of Sami, and Sami said “Oh _shit_ ” with a tone of almost comical surprise, falling backwards onto the bed. His hips arced up and Kevin held on and swallowed and swallowed, listening to the sounds Sami was making, feeling the pen in his hand like a tiny reminder that _this is real, this is really happening._

Sami’s breathing stuttered and slowed. He made a little sobbing sound, and Kevin patted at his hip with his free hand as if to comfort him somehow, moving back to free up his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Kevin muttered. “That probably wasn’t very good.”

Sami made a sound caught between a laugh and groan. “Get up here,” he said. 

Kevin scrambled up onto the bed, feeling awkward and unsure, unable to meet Sami’s eyes. _Holy shit did I just-- Did we-- Will he let me do it again? I think I can do it better._

“Look at me,” said Sami, and hooked his fingers into the ring at Kevin’s throat, pulling his eyes to him. “Kevin,” said Sami, “I know three languages and I don’t have enough words in any of them for how good that was.”

“Shut up,” Kevin said, feeling himself go scarlet. “Stop being an asshole.”

Sami frowned, puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said, and Kevin felt a flicker of uncertainty: he couldn’t possibly _mean_ all the stuff he’d been saying, right? Then Sami said “You’re flawless, you’re my fierce perfect djinn with eyes like storms and a voice like thunder,” and Kevin relaxed again, because _come on,_ that was too dumb to even be embarrassed by.

“Let me take that off you,” Sami said, reaching for the collar. 

Kevin moved back a little. “That’s okay,” he said. “It can stay a little longer. I mean, until you have to go,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know when you’ll be going.”

Sami’s eyes were wary but hopeful. “I’ll stay as long as you like,” he said. “Till morning, if that’s okay. I… liked sleeping next to you, last time.”

“I guess that’s okay,” said Kevin. He started to rub at his eyes so Sami wouldn’t be able to see whatever emotion was in them, then stopped as he almost stabbed himself in the face with the pen. “I have to put this down,” he said.

“Hard to sleep holding a pen,” Sami agreed.

Kevin licked his lips. “Promise you won’t go when I put it down,” he said. He felt the memory of the moment when Sami had turned away knife through him and swallowed hard. “I know you said you’d leave, but that’s over now, right? Promise you won’t leave.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“I won’t leave,” Sami said. “I promise, Kevin.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Kevin’s hand until they were both holding the pen. “Let’s let go of it together,” he said.

Carefully, cautiously, they placed the pen on the nightstand as if it were something very heavy and slightly dangerous. It was just a pen, Kevin thought as he pulled his hand back, fingers still entwined with Sami’s. It wasn’t anything important at all. It was just--

Sami kissed his fingers and Kevin stared at him. “You should get cleaned up,” Sami said.

“I’m fine,” Kevin said. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to admit he just didn’t want to let go of Sami’s hand.

Sami smiled as if he’d said it anyway. “Okay,” he said, pulling Kevin down onto the clean white pillow beside him. He put his lips to the skin just above the lace collar, and his free hand wandered from Kevin’s collarbone down across his chest, roaming over his stomach as if wanting to caress every inch. “Good night, my Kevin,” Sami said against his neck.

Kevin closed his eyes, feeling Sami’s hands on him and Sami’s mouth on his skin, and felt...

_(cherished/loved/joyous/beautiful)_

not bad.

He felt… not bad at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin figures out that maybe Sami isn't being sarcastic when he compliments him and doesn't handle the revelation terribly well.

“Kevin!”

Kevin Owens didn’t turn around at the sound of Sami’s voice, not even when Sami yelled at him again to stop. He didn’t have to do what Sami said. He heard Sami’s footsteps pick up, echoing off the cinder blocks, and he started to walk faster as well. When the pursuing footfalls broke into a run, he did too, but it was no good; Sami caught up with him at the end of some random corridor, colliding with him and sending them both hard up against the wall.

“I didn’t lose,” he said, shoving Sami away. “I didn’t lose this week, I didn’t lose last week, so you can’t, you _can’t_ tell me what to do, Sami.”

“You didn’t have _matches_ this week or last week!” Sami flared back at him, eyes bright and furious.

“ _You_ did, and you lost both of them, didn’t you?” Kevin let malicious glee stretch his mouth into a grin. “You lost to _Aiden English_ , and I didn’t lose at all, so you can’t boss me around.” He felt invulnerable, untouchable. He was utterly alone and safe.

“I lost last week because _you powerbombed me_ after pretending to be a ref!” Sami said.

“And this week? Why did you lose this week?” Kevin laughed jeeringly as Sami hesitated. “You lost because you’re just not very good,” he snarled, incandescent with falsehood. “You lost because you _know_ you’re not very good. You lost because you wouldn’t be my referee two weeks ago and now you don’t deserve to win, not ever again.” His hands were fisted in the cloth of Sami’s shirt at the shoulders. “You wouldn’t be my referee,” he repeated, and was horrified to realize that he sounded woeful instead of spiteful. “Sami, why wouldn’t you be my referee?”

Sami stared at him. His face had gone through three or four different emotions since Kevin had started speaking, and Kevin wasn’t sure what any of them were. Sami’s face was always an open book, but Kevin was apparently fucking illiterate.

“I trusted you,” Kevin said. “You were the only person I trusted, the only person I knew would be fair, and you abandoned me, you bastard, you--”

Sami’s face snapped at last into an expression Kevin knew: disbelief. “You knew I’d be _fair?_ ” he said, and then he started to laugh. “Kevin, what the _hell,_ I said no because I knew I _couldn’t_ be fair, how could I?”

“You’re always fair,” Kevin retorted. “It’s the worst fucking thing about you, how fucking _fair_ you are--” _Fair as the moon,_ his stupid brain supplied helpfully, apparently deciding to abruptly access confirmation classes from two decades ago. _Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners._

 _Thank you so much, brain,_ Kevin thought. _Now please fuck off._

“Kevin, how--” Sami broke off, shaking his head. “How could you possibly trust me to be fair? I want you to lose.”

“Look,” Kevin said. He still had two handfuls of Sami’s shirt; he shook Sami slightly and Sami just looked at him, not bothering to push him away. “I know you despise me, I know you hate to see me win, but I still believe you’d call it down the middle, that you’d--”

“I _like it_ when you win,” Sami said. Kevin blinked at him. “I always have, I can’t help it. I mean, as long as you’re not beating me or my friends up,” he added with an air of scrupulous honesty.

Kevin frowned, feeling like he must be missing something. “But--”

Sami made an exasperated, half-laughing sound. “But Kevin, when you _lose_ it’s the only time you’ll let me--” He reached up and touched Kevin’s hands, still fisted in his shirt. “The only time you’ll let me say how I really feel.”

“How you--” Kevin let go of Sami as if there were an electric current flowing through him. “What the fuck do you mean,” he said, too flat to be a question. 

“You’d never let me say how beautiful you are any other time, right?” Sami’s smile was caught between sadness and affection. “So I always want you to lose, because then you let me look at you, and say everything I’ve wanted to say for a decade, and you _listen to me._ ” He stepped forward and buried his face in Kevin’s neck, and Kevin felt his breath against his skin. “You finally let me tell you how I can’t stop looking at you, how my heart seizes up with joy every time you do a moonsault, how the sound of your voice haunts my dreams, how you’re all grace and power and delight together, and how much I lo--”

Kevin pushed him away and Sami fell back without resistance. 

“See?” he said with a rueful laugh. “I can only get away with it when you lose, so I could never trust myself as a ref. I know I’d count your pins too fast, as fast as my heartbeat thinking about the chance to watch your eyes when I talk about every single flawless inch of your body. They go dark and full of wonder, Kevin, how could I ever call the match fairly when all I want is to tell you how perfect they are, and you _have to lose first?_ ”

“You’re lying,” Kevin said desperately. “You don’t mean it when you say that stuff. You just want to embarrass me. You’re making fun of me.”

The confusion on Sami’s face was devastatingly clear. Kevin’s heart lurched alarmingly. “I… might mock you about being a cheating, lying, ambitious bastard,” Sami said, “but not about how I can never take my eyes off you.” He laughed slightly, disbelievingly. “Did you--Kevin, did you think I was being _sarcastic_?”

 _“Fuck,”_ Kevin said. He couldn’t breathe. The corridor walls seemed to be closing in on him. “Fuck,” he said again, and heard the panic in it. “I can’t--I can’t--”

He turned around and walked away quickly, leaving Sami behind.

* * *

There was a knock on his hotel room door two hours later. He thought about not answering it, then forced himself to swing it open to reveal Sami, bright with anger, hands clenched at his sides.

“Look,” said Sami, “I was going to leave it alone, leave _you_ alone, but then I got thinking about it, and now I’m _angry_ , and I just needed to say--you thought I was mocking you? You thought I was _capable_ of just sitting there and heaping scorn on you, of _getting off on it_ \--what kind of monster do you think I--”

“--I needed it,” Kevin said quickly, hoarsely, looking at the collar of Sami’s t-shirt rather than his eyes. “I wanted it. I wanted you to boss me around and tell me what to do and put me in my place and I needed you to insult me, so I just--I just assumed. I-- couldn’t believe that you...” His voice faltered into silence. _I’m sorry,_ he tried to say, but the words dried up and his lips just shaped them in silence. He watched Sami’s Adam’s apple bob a couple of times. “Okay, you don’t have to stand there, you can go now,” Kevin said, his voice caught somewhere between a snarl and a stammer.

“But I don’t _want_ to go.” 

“I don’t want you to go either,” Kevin said before he could stop himself. “But I didn’t lose tonight.”

“God damn it.” There was both exasperation and laughter in SamI’s voice. “You are the most stubborn, inflexible--you _have_ to lose? That’s the only way you’ll let me ‘boss you around’ like you admit you want? You _want_ me to stay here and tell you what to do, you want me to--I don’t know, give you a good spanking like the naughty boy you are--” His voice was light, but the sound Kevin made stopped him in his tracks; for a moment they just looked at each other, breathing heavily. “You want all that, you _need_ all that, and I’m perfectly happy to do it, but you won’t let me unless you’ve lost.”

 _He was happy to do it, he was happy happy to do happy to do it,_ Kevin’s brain jangled. He was-- “I _can’t,”_ Kevin said. 

Sami slammed a fist into the doorframe. “Of all the stupid, pig-headed, ridiculous assholes in the world, you really take the fucking prize.” He was furious and beautiful and Kevin wanted him so much he thought he was going to scream or hit something or rip the door off its hinges. He looked at Sami’s fist still resting against the door and inspiration hit.

“Hey,” he said, and held out one hand between them palm-up, resting his fist in it.

Sami blinked at the familiar gesture, then put his own hand out and dropped his fist onto it. 

In unison, they played rock-paper-scissors. 

Sami almost _always_ went with paper the first throw. He had for over a decade, and never seemed aware of it, and got really angry when everyone always beat him. Now he stared at Kevin’s fist, resting in the palm of his hand. “I never win at this,” he said in amazement.

“Well, I guess you did this time,” Kevin said, trying not to look too smug as glee suffused his chest. 

Sami looked at him. “You lost.” He put out his hand to rest it on top of Kevin’s fist, like a piece of paper floating down onto a stone, light and graceful. “You lost,” he said again. His fingers curled to brush Kevin’s fist, and Kevin felt his own fingers twitch as if they yearned to unfold, to unclench, to fall apart at Sami’s slightest touch.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I guess I lost. Go ahead, call me a big fucking loser or--”

Sami surged forward, pushing Kevin into the room and letting the door swing shut behind them. It closed with a _bang_ that made Kevin startle and tremble a little as Sami started kissing the skin behind his ear, and then somehow he couldn’t stop trembling, it was very strange.

“You’re the most beautiful loser in the world,” Sami whispered into his ear, and Kevin started to flush at the sarcasm and then remembered with an agonizing jolt that Sami _wasn’t being sarcastic,_ that he _meant it,_ and oh, that was an entirely new level of humiliation, one he had never even imagined before. 

“Say that again,” he muttered thickly, his fingers in Sami’s hair, wanting to hear it again, wanting the way it flayed him to the bone.

“You’re the most beautiful person in the world,” Sami said with a fervor that made Kevin wince with delighted agony, pressing his lips to Kevin’s temple. “You have silver hairs here, did you know that?” he murmured. “You get more gorgeous every day.”

“Oh God, fuck you,” Kevin said, and Sami laughed quietly against his skin. “You don’t mean that, you fucking moron.”

“You know I mean it,” Sami said. “And you _lost_ , so you can’t argue with me any more, Kevin.”

His voice was sternly scolding; Kevin took a couple of deep, quick breaths, feeling giddiness creeping in around the edges of his consciousness. “Yes I can,” he said, knowing he sounded sulky, not really caring. “I can… I can always argue.”

“Kevin,” Sami said, pulling back to give him a level, measuring look, “this is what’s going to happen. If you contradict me one more time, I am going to tape your mouth shut so you can’t argue with me anymore.”

Kevin’s knees seemed to go a little wobbly.

“And then,” Sami went on in the same tone he used to take explaining his brilliant strategy for winning their match to Kevin when they were partners, when they were friends, when all the while he had thought Kevin was _beautiful,_ “then I’m going to get your clothes off and give you a handjob while telling you all the things I’ve ever wanted to. The things I _mean,_ Kevin,” he added, looking at Kevin sternly, and Kevin nodded with a startled jerk. “And after you come, I’m going to untape your mouth, and I’m going to kiss you.”

For some reason, the word “kiss” seemed to hit Kevin a lot harder than the word “handjob”; he looked at Sami’s mouth as if he couldn’t help himself.

“But you can avoid all that,” Sami said cheerfully, “if you just don’t contradict me again.” He beamed at Kevin. “I bet you can’t do it,” he said. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut.”

All he had to do was agree and maybe, just maybe, he could get back some of his balance, he wouldn’t end up helpless and dizzy on his back with his lips sealed and Sami’s hand on him and Sami’s voice saying--

“I could totally keep my mouth shut if I wanted to,” he muttered. Sami’s smile blazed up into hunger and Kevin said, “I _could_. You’re wrong, Sami, you’re always wrong about me.”

He crossed his arms, waiting for Sami to argue, but Sami had already turned his back on him and grabbed his bag (“Hey, my bag!” Kevin said feebly), emerging in triumph with a roll of Kevin’s wrist tape. Putting his hand on Kevin’s chest, he slowly pushed him backwards until the bed came up against the back of his legs and he tumbled over, ungainly as a sowbug. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath and he was already hard, it was horrible and so good.

“You’re wrong,” he said desperately, unsure what he was even referring to anymore, and then Sami was tearing off a piece of tape and turning back to him. He pressed it to Kevin’s mouth, and Kevin felt the words within stopped, sealed up into silence.

“No,” said Sami, “ _you’re_ wrong.” He paused for moment as if savoring the quiet; Kevin breathed through his nose and tried to glare at him. Sami pushed his shirt up and Kevin squirmed under his touch. “I love the way you move,” Sami said. “I love the way you fight to get to the ropes when you’re in a submission, how your fingers reach out as if trying to get to the thing you need most in the world. Every time I see it, I wish they were reaching out to touch me.”

 _They always are._ The words were stopped by the tape, but Kevin felt them in his mouth, sweet and bitter.

Sami pulled Kevin’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His eyes roamed across Kevin’s body with a fierce bright hunger, and he bent to press a line of kisses from Kevin’s collarbone down to his navel, murmuring things against Kevin’s skin that seemed to turn all the air in the room into flame. Kevin heard himself make noises against the tape as words seemed to batter at the inside of his mouth; he could hear them buzzing in his head like bees, like bright horrible hummingbirds demanding to be let out, and he was fiercely grateful for the tape keeping them trapped.

Sami took him in his hand and all the words fell away into sheer, simple lust as Kevin bucked up into his touch. He could hear Sami talking about his eyes and his arms and his hair, about the strength and the softness of his body and how he loved and wanted all of him. He had never imagined that being desired would be so sweetly agonizing. “Give yourself to me,” Sami whispered against his collarbone. There was laughter threaded through his words, but there was nothing mocking about it, nothing to hide the affection. “Give all of yourself to me, my thunderstorm, my thornbush, my red red rose.”

 _No._ It was the final straw, it was too fucking ludicrous to be called a flower--after all the blood and pain, to be this luminous idiot’s fucking _flower_. Kevin tried to laugh but the tape stopped his jeering; he tried to swear but the words snarled into white noise in his head as without any warning he came into Sami’s flawless grip, panting and shaking and startled.

“Mmh,” he said against the tape after a long moment. 

He wasn’t sure what word he had meant it to be, if any, but Sami said “Oh, I’m sorry,” and slid up to rest a hand on the tape covering his mouth. “I hope this doesn’t hurt too much,” he said. “Should I let you do it yourself?”

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him in a way that he hoped adequately conveyed _This is all your fault, so you do the honors._ Oh, when that tape came off, he was going to have a few things to say, that was for sure. There were about fifty possibilities all tangling up in his head, his mouth full of words unspoken, just waiting for release. To swear revenge, to tell him it felt good, to beg for more, to ask what kind of moron would call their greatest enemy a red red rose, to laugh, to mock, to apologize, to ask _why._

“Okay.” He could feel Sami’s fingers teasing up one end of the tape. “I’ll just do it quick and get it over with, right?” He looked at Kevin’s eyes. “Uh, right.”

It wasn’t immensely sticky tape, but it still pulled out a few hairs above his lip when Sami yanked it free in one abrupt motion, and it _stung_ and Kevin blurted out _“I love you,”_ the words torn from him in the same sharp, startled moment.

Sami stared at him and Kevin glared back, daring him to laugh, feeling all of his soul withering, curling up into a ball of mortification within his chest. 

“Did I fucking _stutter_?” he finally snarled when Sami said nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

“No,” said Sami. “No, you didn’t.” He touched Kevin’s lower lip with his thumb and Kevin could feel the tremble in his touch. Then he leaned forward and slowly, so slowly, so tentatively--how could he be so tentative, how could he not _know_ \--put his mouth to Kevin’s.

Kevin felt Sami’s beard against his, felt his lips, his tongue--he tried not to think about how embarrassing it would be if Sami didn’t say “I love you” back, how awful it would be to have said something so dumb (so true) and have Sami ignore it. It would be the worst, the fairest, the most humiliating thing.

And then Sami broke the kiss and put his mouth close to Kevin’s ear and Kevin discovered that _no,_ after all, the _most_ humiliating thing would be to have Sami say it back to him with his voice shaking and sweet, as if he’d wanted to say it forever, as if he felt lucky, lucky, _lucky_ to say such a thing to Kevin.

Sami kissed him again, and Kevin knew in that moment that he was lost for good.


End file.
